#thatch op

The Whitebeard Pirates' gym was usually a cacophony of clanging weights, grunts and the rhythmic thump of sparring practice. Today, however, it was just the swish of brooms and the scrub of sponges. It was your and Thatch's turn for cleaning duty.

You were the newest recruit and the only woman on the primary ship. A whirlwind of power that had surprised everyone. You could out-spar most of the division commanders and had a speed that made even some of the veterans sweat. Yet, you couldn't escape the constant, smothering blanket of protective worry from your new family, especially Thatch, the Fourth Division Commander and chef.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” Thatch chirped, leaning against a dumbbell rack with his arms crossed, a smug, playful glint in his eyes. He watched you haul a massive stack of weight plates back onto the rack. “Wouldn't want you to strain yourself. You’re a fragile flower, after all. Need your big, strong division commander protection, don’t you?” He teased.

You froze, the two plates in your hands feeling suddenly lighter than feathers. The words weren't malicious you knew Thatch genuinely cared and was just teasing. But after a week of being told to 'take it easy,' 'let us carry that,' and 'don't overdo it, sweetie,' you finally snapped.

You dropped the plates with a resounding CLANG.

“A fragile flower, you say?” you gritted out, spinning around. Your eyes were flashing with a mixture of annoyance and determination. “I’m not a fragile flower I'm at least a damn cactus with a temper, Thatch. And I’ve had enough of the tiptoeing and be treated like I might snap in two if I so much as look at a weight.”

You didn't give him time to react. You launched yourself forward, a blur of muscle and righteous anger, tackling the commander mid-smirk.

“Let me show you how fragile I am!” you yelled, driving him back against a sparring mat.

Thatch grunted as he hit the padded floor, a genuine flash of surprise, which was immediately followed by pure, delighted mischief, crossing his face. He met your charge with his arms coming up instinctively, but he held back, letting you scramble on top, trying to pin his arms.

“Woah, simmer down, sweetheart! Didn’t know we were getting a bonus workout!” he chuckled, easily keeping your weight off his chest with one hand while still making you believe you were in control.

You pushed harder, your adrenaline spiking. You used your full strength, the strength that had fended off vicious pirates on the Grand Line, focusing it all into pinning this smug idiot down and not get distracted by his annoyingly charming smile or his damn handsome face. Nope definitely not. Not even by the way he smelled like cinnamon and something earthy and masculine, nope that was not distracting you.

But just as you forced yourself not to think too much about him or this situation right now, the air shifted.

Thatch's smile didn't falter, but the casual lightness in his eyes was replaced by a smooth, fluid intensity. In a move so quick and deceptively effortless you didn't even register it until it was done, he shifted his hips, hooked his leg around yours and used your forward momentum against you.

In an instant, you were no longer on top. You were flat on your back, Thatch’s weight solid and inescapable over you. He had your arms pinned above your head in a vice-like grip, his movements precise and utterly unhurried. He was breathing easily, his chest barely rising while your own was heaving rapdily and that not just from the surpriseof the sudden repositioning.

“See now, sweetheart ” he said, his voice a low, tantalizing rumble, sounding like he was ordering an appetizer, not pinning a powerful opponent. “You’re strong, really strong. But I’m the division commander. And I just happen to be a little bit stronger.”

You blinked, still completely overwhelmed with what just happened. Your face was turning a spectacular shade of crimson. He was right. You had used everything and he had countered it like it was a minor inconvenience. His strength wasn't just raw power, it was practiced, smooth and damnably impressive.

“L-Let go!” you pouted, struggling. “You cheated!”

Thatch’s grin widened. He leaned in close, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

“Cheated? Nah. I just proved my point, princess,” he purred. “And now… you gotta eat your words.”

His hands left your wrists, but you didn’t have a chance to move. One hand shot to your side, the other to your ribs and he started to tickle you. Hard. Relentlessly.

“A-AHAHA! NO! THATCH—STOP IT! I’M GO-AHAHAHAH! C-CURSE YOU! LET GO!” you shrieked, bucking and thrashing with genuine desperation, your speed utterly useless against the sheer assault of playful torment. Tears of laughter and frustration welled in your eyes.

Thatch, eating up your distress like a gourmet meal, pressed his advantage. “Say it, sweetheart! Say who’s stronger! Say you need your big, strong and utterly handsome division commander's protection!”

“NEVER!”

He intensified his attack, his own deep, rumbling laugh filling the quiet gym.

“S-ST-OP! OKAY! OKAY! YOU’RE…… YOU’RE STRONGER! THE STRONGEST! LET ME GO, YOU MEAN TEDDY BEAR!”

He laughed hard at you calling him a teddybear and finally relented, pulling his hands away but he didn't move immediately off you instead his eyes softened and he looked down at you as if memorizing every contour of your face, before finally getting off you and collapsing beside your panting, tear-streaked and red form. The room was silent save for your ragged breaths and his soft chuckles.

“See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said lowly, unable to hide a triumphant smile.

You glared at him, or at least you tried to, catching your breath. “I hate you. I really, truly hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmured, rolling onto his side to face you, his teasing gone, replaced by a deep, tender warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

You lay there, chest heaving, staring back. The truth was, you were completely, irrevocably head over heels for this infuriating, handsome, charming and strong man. You had been for quite some time now but always pushed it down.

Thatch lifted a hand, gently wiping a lingering tear from your cheek with his thumb. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and the air between you two went from playfully charged to deeply, undeniably electric.

“You’re beautiful when you’re mad,” he whispered, his voice suddenly husky his hand tracing from your cheek down to your jawline and stopping to gently grip your chin.

You swallowed hard, your heart slamming against your ribs and your lips parted slightly. Before you knew it though he tilted your chin and leaned in, closing the small gap between you and pressed his lips to yours. It wasn't a demanding kiss, but a soft, almost reverent touch, a silent confession of all the worried glances, the playful jabs and the mean crush he had been nursing since you had stepped onto the deck.

You felt the shock, the heat and the sudden, overwhelming relief of shared desire and butterflies in your stomach. You moved, not to fight, but to lean in, your hands coming up to cup his jaw, deepening the kiss into an answer.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, the cleaning forgotten.

“I was beginning to think I imagined the electric tension between us,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering open as you felt your cheeks heat up and you smiled almost shyly.

“Me too,” Thatch admitted, his own heart practically slamming against his ribs. He gave you a final, sweet peck. “Come on, princess. I know a better place to recover from that very necessary wrestling match.”

He stood up, offering you a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. Without giving you a chance to respond further, he grabbed you, hurled you over his shoulder with an ease that was almost insulting and carried you through the corridors of the Moby Dick.

“Thatch what are you doing? Put me down.” Your arms flailed, but it was no use and laughter slipped past your lips while you were completely at his mercy.

“Can’t do that pretty girl, you’re going to learn the hard (😏) way how I really treat someone under my protection, someone who admitted that they needed me,” he teased and you grumbled. “Don’t worry love, I’m gonna show you how to worship someone as stubborn… and strong as you,” he murmured into your ear as you reached his room, the door closing softly behind you both and suddenly the teasing, public energy of the gym was replaced by the heat of Thatch’s private room. “And you’re going to like it, trust me.”

Thatch's quarters smelled faintly of something earthy, spices and the sea, a comforting blend that was uniquely him. Thatch moved like a man ready to worship the woman who could handle her own and who, finally, felt truly handled by him, the residual adrenaline from the wrestling match mixing with the frantic, heady desire that had been simmering between you for weeks.

He gently pushed the door closed with his foot. The moment the latch clicked, he set you down gently but firmly, his hands still holding you close, you could feel him pressing against you his hands tracing over your sides and back. His eyes roamed over you with that same teasing, possessive gleam. You could feel the heat rising in your chest.

Your hands moved on their own threading fiercely through the soft, brown strands of his hair.

“You’ve been so stubborn all day,” he murmured, his lips brushing your neck making you shiver under his touch. “Talking about how strong you are… how independent… and yet, look at you now. You admitted that you needed my protection, that I’m stronger than you and who would I be to not reward such insight.” He rumbled before kissing you again and you met it with a hungry fervor, a blend of relief and long-suppressed need.

“You’re such a damn tease,” you mumbled, your words heavy with adoration.

“Only for you, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice low and ragged. He lifted you easily, setting you on the edge of his large bunk and took a step back, his hands resting on your thighs, his eyes sweeping over your face.

He looked at you with utter affection, his chest heaving slightly, the playful mask completely gone, replaced by an intense, consuming admiration.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been,” Thatch confessed, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “Watching you lift everything, fight everyone, wanting to be the one to worry about you and knowing I couldn’t cross that line.”

“You crossed it pretty spectacularly back there,” you teased, your own breathing evening out, though the heat in your cheeks remained.

He grinned, the familiar mischief returning just for a moment. “I told you, I’m stronger. And you admitted it.”

“I admitted you’re a fiend with a finger-pinch, Thatch,” you corrected, but the fondness in your eyes belied the sharpness.

He chuckled, then grew serious again. He took your hands, bringing them to his mouth and kissing the knuckles one by one.

“You are the strongest person I know, [Y/N],” he said, his gaze locked on yours, full of deep, honest respect. “But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be taken care of. You deserve to be seen, to be appreciated, to be protected and to be absolutely adored.”

He knelt before you, sinking onto one knee, turning the moment into something sacred and profound. He began to worship you not with grand declarations, but with the focused, tender attention that you had been missing for quite some time now.

He pulled off your heavy boots, his large hands careful and gentle as he traced his hands over your tired feet before he got up and pushed you softly back down onto the matress and hovered over you.

You gasped, heart pounding, but there was no fear just a shiver of anticipation. “T-Take care of me… huh?” You whispered back, your voice trembling, craving more of that smug, dominant energy he radiated.

His grin spread wickedly as his hands roamed deliberately and began to slip teasingly under your shirt, feeling every inch of you. “Yes. Worship. That’s exactly what you deserve, [Y/N]. Someone to show you exactly what it means to take care of you and how much I want you.”

You moaned, tilting your head back as his lips trailed down your collarbone, each kiss leaving a mark, a warm imprint of possession. You could feel him pressing you further into the mattress, every movement controlled yet smooth, his power effortless and your body reacting instinctively. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

He caught your hands in his, kissing each knuckle again before he pinned them above your head with one strong arm, his body trapping yours. “You’re going to feel every inch of me,” he whispered, voice low, commanding. “Every touch, every kiss, every mark I leave… will make you feel good and show you that you’re mine.”

You trembled under his control, hips pressing into him and he let out a low chuckle at your reaction. “God, you’re perfect. Strong, stubborn… and yet so desperate for me.” His words made you shiver all over, sending heat pooling between your legs.

Before you could even respond he captured your lips in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue teased yours, exploring, asserting and you kissed him back with the same intensity. Tongues tangled and fought for dominance. Every part of you wanted him, wanted to feel his strength against yours, wanted to surrender and fight at the same time.

When he finally broke the kiss, just enough to smirk down at you, you could see the unmistakable glint of care and love in his eyes. “And now,” he said smoothly, “you’re going to understand why I’ve been holding back. I’m going to worship you… the way you deserve.”

With that everything else faded into the heat of the moment. Every touch, every whisper, every low growl from him told you he had been imagining this for a long time. And you? You were ready to let him take control completely, to show him just how much you wanted him in return.

He moved quickly yet smoothly to undress you, leaving you exposed to him in ways that made your cheeks burn hotter with each passing second.

Thatch’s hands never stopped moving, gliding over every curve of you, exploring, teasing, while keeping you completely pinned under his strength. You moaned into his neck as he nipped and kissed along your collarbone, each bite leaving a mark, each kiss a claim.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low and possessive. “Every shiver, every gasp… it’s because of me. Because I’m yours and you're mine.”

Your hands instinctively reached up and started to unbutton his shirt while the mixture of his dominance and teasing words had your mind swimming. “Thatch… please… haaa… don’t stop…” you gasped, body trembling under him.

He chuckled, savoring your reaction as you frantically pulled his shirt off. “Don’t stop? Oh, you’re going to remember this,” he whispered helping you remove his shirt discarding it to the side, before he began trailing his lips from your jaw downwards, teasing your neck brushing over the top of your chest, then teasing the swell of your breasts. “Every inch of you belongs to me. Every gasp, every moan… mine.”

You arched into him instinctively, desperate for more, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. And he responded immediately, his hands sliding down to glide over your sides and stomach down to your waist, leaving lines of fire and electricity in it's wake.

Another gasp left your lips as you felt your skin prickle, his strength both firm and fluid and so damn thrilling and consuming.

“You’re the most stubborn and at the same time beautiful woman I've ever met,” he murmured as he leaned down, capturing your lips again. “You have no idea how many nights I've spent dreaming of this, love. How many times I've been thinking about you, needing you” he breathed lowly.

“I… I… did too!” you onfessed with a gasp, your voice breaking as the kiss deepened. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing your body fully against his. Every inch of you screamed for him, craved him, his touch, the way he had effortlessly overpowered you earlier and the way he always treated you like you were someone special.

Thatch’s grin was wide, maybe a bit possessive, as he broke the kiss to whisper teasingly against your ear, “That’s it. Admit it… admit I’m stronger, admit you need my protection. And then… I’ll worship you the way you deserve.”

His lips traced every inch of your skin, leaving little kisses along your neck, shoulders and down your arms, teasing lightly as his fingers danced across your sensitive spots.

“Yes! Hah! I—I need you! You’re stronger… and I… I need your protection!” You gasped, shivering under him, completely flushed, completely his.

Satisfied, he didn’t stop. He nibbled and sucked lightly on your neck, chest, every inch of skin he could reach, hands roaming freely, teasing, worshiping, marking you in ways that left you breathless. Every touch was a mixture of dominance and adoration, he was cherishing you like no one else had before. You shivered beneath him, heart racing, every nerve alight from anticipation and arousal.

“You drive me insane princess,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “so strong, so beautiful and so willing to let me take control. You’re mine… completely.”

You moaned as his lips trailed down teasing your nipple, giving it a flick of his tongue before he trailed down kissing a path lower and lower till he reached your bellybutton, smirking up at you, savoring your needy face and the whine you made when he stopped. “You're so damn perfect” he murmered.

Then, without warning, he moved between your legs, and your breath hitched as his lips found your most sensitive spot. A sharp gasp escaped you and you instinctively tried to close your legs but Thatch was already in control. His large, strong hands pressed firmly but gently against your thighs, holding them open. “No,” he groaned, voice low, teasing and obsessed. “Not yet. You belong to me now princess, let me show you how much I crave this, you.”

Your body instinctively reacted to the sensation. Back arching and head tilting slightly backwards a deep moan escaping your lips. You were utterly lost in the heat of the moment. Every part of you was melted away, leaving only desire and surrender. And Thatch? He soaked it up, grinning like a child in a candystore as he continued to kiss your core before sucking teasingly on your clit.

You trembled, heat pooling between your legs as his tongue teased and flicked against you, expertly finding every sensitive spot. Every lick, every suck and every move deliberate, every touch a reminder of his strength and claim over you.

You reached down to him, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Haaaah don't — Thatch don't — fuck —don't sto-op” you moaned.

Your hands clawed at his hair and shoulders, your breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps, but he only hummed, clearly enjoying every reaction. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered against you, his pompadour brushing softly against your thighs, his goatee grazing your skin as he kissed and licked. “So stubborn… so strong… and yet, look at you. Completely mine. Every gasp, every shiver—it’s all for me.”

“Thatch… p-please… I—ah—can’t…” you gasped, each word cut off by another flick of his tongue, another teasing kiss that left you writhing.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice low and commanding, hands holding you firm. “You can love. You’re mine to worship, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it and you will too.”

And you did under the combination of his caress and worshipful attention, leaving you trembling and gasping, totally at his mercy but for the first time in your life you didn'tmind being at someone else's mercy.

You were trembling, breathless, your body arching up into his mouth with every teasing stroke, your skin prickling. Your hands twisted in the sheets, your thighs shaking against his iron grip.

You were close, so close as Thatch sucked harder “Thatch… please…” your voice broke, high and desperate.

“Not yet sweetheart” he teased as he felt your body quivering under his ministrations.

“I can’t take it anymore. I need you—inside me—please…”

He froze for a moment, lifting his head to look up at you. His eyes were dark now, the teasing grin softening into something hotter, hungrier. He let out a low, satisfied sound and dragged his thumb slowly along your hip, a silent promise.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You don't know how much I wanted to hear you say that.”

He moved upward, kissing a trail up your stomach, over your chest, up your throat, until he hovered over you again. The heat of his body pressed against yours, his weight and warmth surrounding you. His face was close to yours now, breath mingling with yours as his forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m going to take you,” he whispered, his tone a mix of command and worship. “The way you’ve been begging for. The way I’ve been dying to.”

You whimpered, trembling under him, hands clutching at his arms for purchase. Every part of you was on fire, desperate for him.

He kissed you then, deep and hungry, one hand gripping your hip while the other cradled your cheek as you felt him slowly enter you making you gasp into the kiss. He rolled his hips slowly, deliberately, teasing you with the weight and heat of him pressed right where you wanted it most but not yet giving in. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his grin returning, a little smug but nonetheless soft and full of affection.

“Say it again,” he murmured as he picked up the pace deliberately not rushing anything, savoring the moment. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you breathed, eyes half-lidded and pleading. “Please, Thatch. Make me cum.”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second and then leaned down to kiss you again, his hands sliding up to lace with yours, holding you, anchoring you. “That’s my beautiful girl…” he rumbled and then he moved, slow but sure, finally enough to give you what you had been begging for, his strength and heat wrapping around you as his mouth found yours again, swallowing your gasp.

You felt him hit that sweet spot over and over, making your heart race as hus grunts became more feral. You were both so close your grip on his hand tightening as you felt the orgasm built up and Thacth began moving faster and a little rougher.

“Thatch — haaa — gonna,” you moaned as you felt yourself cum hard and with a deep feral grunt he followed you, filling you up.

You were both panting by now while Thatch didn't pull out immediately instead he just looked down at you breathing heavily his face slightly flush and small droplets of sweat on his chest.

“I love you my little cactus,” he whispered voice a little raspy now, yet still carrying that teasing undertone.

“I love you too, my big strong protector.”

Marco the Phoenix | Polo Marco

Immediately glares at the idea of mpreg.

"I don't have a cloaca in my phoenix form, if that's what you're looking so gleeful for. You're not living out your mpreg fantasy, yoi." (worth a shot)

Finds the idea of being an alpha and omega kind of fun in a fictional way but would rather die a virgin than let you impregnate him if he was an omega.

Would read it with you though, and point out medical inaccuracies so often you'd have to kiss him to shut him up

Surgeon of Death | Trafalgar D. Water Law

Disgust at the idea of mpreg but also insane fascination with the genre.

"Men can get pregnant...?? Is it like...?? A cloaca?? Or do they just have a uterus up their ass?"

"How does a knot work exactly. No, no, you started this, tell me how it works—"

Would be interested because he generally finds fictional anatomy fascinating. Don't read it near him though, he'll start rationalising the anatomy of everything and what chemicals are being sent into the brain instead of enjoying the "plot."

Izou

Is it bad if I say he's real interested.

He's not gonna be the biggest fan of it, per se, but he certainly wouldn't mind reading it, especially if he's the alpha.

Would be irritated if you say he'd be an omega, but a lot more accepting if you say he's still a top.

Would read it on his own time too.

Thatch

Get away from this man he's terrified.

"Please don't impregnate me, I have to cook for the crew, I can't throw up at the smell of eggs—"

Not really into the genre, but understands if you are. Finds the idea of a knot kind of terrifying.

Honestly thinks he would be an omega, not because he can't be an alpha, he's just. Look at him, he's an omega.

She gives the suitcase and bag to Teach which confuses him and Marco before she shushes Sanji and whispers she and his mother love him before handing him off and leaving. Sanji is sobbing in Marco's arms and trying to escape and the men talk about getting the helmet off him as they wait for him to either calm down or tire himself out. It takes a while and Marco and Teach keep talking to him, explaining they're going to keep him safe, there's a man who will give everything to protect his family and Sanji will be able to join it. Marco then asks if Sanji can talk and he shakes his head and the commanders are staring at each other because that information wasn't passed on to them. They thought he was just too upset but there's not been words coming from the boy and the noises sound choked and garbled so they take to the ship to start getting the helmet off.

Marco works on picking the locks on it as Teach sends calls out for anyone in the fleet who knows any sign language to meet at Moby and they sail for home. It takes a while and several others to come and try their luck for them to get it off the kid. It doesn’t work, instead they get the jaw to open so Marco smiles at the boy and offers a popsicle, something easy and light and hydrating. Sanji hesitantly takes it and eats it fairly quickly, afraid it’ll disappear or be taken away.

“He looks like you, could be mistaken for your kid.” Teach says when the boy falls asleep, swaddled in a couple of blankets.

“Because we’re blond?” Marco pans at him, Teach shrugs as he leaves. When they reach the fleet, the first things that happen are the helmet is finally picked open and off and Sanji is taken for a bath and thoroughly scrubbed down. Marco looks at the scars on the boy, but especially the one on his neck. He goes slow and asks Sanji if he can write, luckily the kid nods and it’s easy to communicate from there on, since the boy doesn’t know sign and only a couple members of the fleet do, but they’re all spread out over the territory.

Sanji sticks to Marco like he’s glued to him, Marco will carry him or let Sanji hang onto his belt loops, doesn’t shoo him away. Doesn’t mind the noises the kid makes and smiles at him when he does happen to make noise. The Old Man smiles at him and gladly welcomes him to the family, he often teases Marco for bringing the first grand-baby into the fleet. Marco just shrugs and says he’s glad he has the kid.

The same can’t be said for some on the fleet though.

It’s during a fleet party, after Marco puts Sanji to bed, when he’s drinking with a couple other commanders does Sanji run out, face and hands bleeding and dripping onto the deck and it’s the first time Marco actually feels rage. The men following no longer crew, nakama, they’ve tried to hurt a child, spewing that a mute ain’t got a place on the seas. They’re killed faster than Marco remembers and then he’s carrying Sanji to the infirmary, silent sobs shaking the boy as Marco starts cleaning them up.

“Well, it was a joke, but that anger, that fury was of a father. He’s your son.” Newgate says later. “His trust in you is greater than the rest of us, especially after that.”

Marco nods as he reads books on sign language, if he has a son he will do right by him, like his father did by him. Eventually they all start learning so that they can all effectively communicate with the fleet’s baby. Sanji takes to it with ease, a young brain absorbs information far easier than they’re elder brains can. He makes noise still, but the damage to the larynx and vocal chords is irreparable, can’t form words around the scar tissue and his noises are more like squeaks and whines.

Thatch and Marco eventually find Sanji likes to be in the kitchen, to help, to watch, to learn. They brainstorm ways to include Sanji outside of Thatch setting aside time to teach. They want to include him in cooking with the crew and Teach brings up putting a bell on Sanji’s wrist for call backs. Thatch says he could kiss him and Teach gags at the thought. The brother’s laugh as Thatch runs off to find a bell to put on Sanji. Sanji runs around the ship with the bell firmly attached to his wrist, his quiet glee making the commanders and his grandfather fawn over him. Marco has a hard time separating him from his bell when it’s time for bed, the pout, the signing joined by a twinkling bell. Marco just rests his chin on a hand as he watches his son with utter fondness tell him he’s not tired and wants to go back to the kitchen to help clean up.

“Time to rest, kiddo, you can help tomorrow. Let me take the bell off so it doesn’t wake us up.” Marco chuckles. Sanji pouts and holds out his wrist for Marco to remove, he falls asleep within minutes and Marco goes to lay in his own hammock.

Of course fighting with marines and other crews is dangerous for Sanji, an easy target because of his age and once word gets out about his inability to talk-well now everyone’s on edge. It’s only a matter of time before someone manages to actually get their hands on the boy.

And when they do, it’s a bloodbath. No one is satiated until the youngest is found. The pirates who caught him dangle his bell in front of him. They mock him, hit him, they are nothing but cruel as they make insinuations. Sanji tries to be brave but it’s so similar to the dungeon, so similar to what he went through already he begins to dissociate. He tries not to doubt his new family, but he doesn’t think they’re coming for him.

He smells smoke in the back of his head. It’s hard to come back to the forefront as the sounds of war sound from the deck. He hears shouting as Vista rushes to the bars in front of him, there’s several flashes of emotion before the bars are cut open. He goes and grabs Sanji only for him to wrench out of the hands with a gasp and tears pouring from his eyes. Vista tries to calm him but they need to get out before the ship burns down into the sea. Vista apologizes before grabbing the boy and running. Sanji can’t scream, he’s trying to fight his way out of the grip Vista has on him but he won’t let go. Not until they’re on the Moby, when Newgate who is too big for his mind to handle and it sends him spiralling into a panic attack. One that is not easily quelled until Nurse Tate takes him. Sanji eventually calms down later, Tate and Marco working side by side to clean and bandage him.

Tate smiles sweetly at him as she finishes taping some gauze down and moves to tie his bell to his wrist then shakes his arm lightly so it jingles. Sanji repeats the motion easily as Marco moves to check his concussion(moderate), his reflexes(fine-ish), and his breathing(painful thanks to some broken ribs).

“I won't let this happen again, you're my son and I failed to protect you. I'm sorry.” Marco promises. Sanji just leans into him, letting himself be held. The next morning Teach looks at him weirdly, like he's disappointed Sanji’s not more hurt. But he hides it quickly and Sanji doesn't see it again, not for years.

Jozu and Vista take to training the fleet's youngest immediately as he's cleared. He gets stronger as the years pass, a chip on his shoulder for his perceived weakness. He learns fast, Marco and Thatch will watch, and one day Izou decides to take Sanji and give him a gun. A quick training session later he’s fairly comfortable and Marco is looking at his brother and his son as they chat idly about guns, something about his son growing up that makes his chest ache.

It goes that way for years, Sanji gets stronger, the crew keeps track of the youngest, between Germa and all the others wanting him as a pawn in their fights. When they meet with Shanks for an alliance the crew keeps looking for the source of tinkling noise. Only to see a teenager running around with Izou and Vista with a bell on his wrist, smiling widely and making squeaking noises. Beck shares a look with his captain and goes to investigate. Sanji looks at the man built like a solid wall and signs at him. Izou wraps an arm around him possessively and grins at him.

“This is Marco’s boy, Sanji. Careful Beckmann.” Izou’s voice is edged with warning and Beck looks at the boy whose hands are moving faster than Beck knows what to do with. Izou is watching with amusement until something makes his face change dramatically. “I’m not translating that! He’s a right hand of another emperor and you don’t need to start a war!” Izou is looking at the boy and moving to wring his neck when Marco walks up.

“You have a son?” Beck asks the doctor.

“Yep, that’s Sanji.” Marco nods.

“Deaf?” Beck guesses.

“Mute.” Marco corrects as he looks at his kid. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” He warns before heading to the captains. Beck looks back at the kid and wild hands and the bell on his wrist, notes the scar on the boy’s neck. He smiles brightly at Beckmann before waving and running off to the galley. Izou sighs and rubs his temples.

“That boy, I swear. Needs friends his age.” Izou grumbles.

“Hard to find when most of the world doesn’t sign.” Beck rubs his shoulder comfortingly. “Or being in the Shirohige.” Izou groans as Beckmann heads back. When the meeting is done and everyone’s eating Shanks makes conversation with the youngest of his ally’s fleet. Thatch acting as translator as they talk and Shanks laughs at the teen’s antics. Later Sanji’s asleep and Shanks and Beck look at the boy, Yasopp says something about Usopp and Luffy that makes all of the Redhaired crew’s hearts ache. The next day they watch Sanji’s legs set alight as he chases Teach for something or other as Vista loses it with Jozu. Beck turns on his heel for their ship within a minute of seeing it. Shanks looks at Thatch and Marco who have their faces in their hands and groaning. Shanks follows Beck immediately after that sight. Over the years the crews have fun, learning to communicate in their own ways.

When a young hotshot tries to kill White Beard and is captured it sends rumors through the crew, very few being allowed to visit the prisoner. Sanji being one of them and he always smiles at the dark haired man who glowers at him. He drops off food and always frowns when he picks it up untouched. He always writes on a notepad to ask but the newcomer ignores him, despite the noises or the bell chime.

Until one day, anyway.

“Just use your voice and speak.” Ace tells the blond outside his cell who flips to a new page on his notepad and writes again. Ace groans and ignores the paper when it’s held out to him and the foot stomp. There’s a noise of anger or something from the blond in front of him but Ace chooses to stare at the ceiling of his cell. Instead a piece of paper is wadded and thrown at his feet as the blond stomps away.

It’s sometime later when Marco comes in and Ace hasn’t touched the food at all or the wadded up paper and the CMO is frowning at the kid. He knew Sanji was here earlier, he had been upset and Izou had taken the baby to go calm down, target practice the crossdresser muttered as he looked at the brig before going for the young blond.

“So, is there a reason you’re not eating and ignoring Sanji?” Marco asks with his arms crossed.

“If he would talk like a normal person maybe I’d listen to him.” Ace growls at him.

Marco blinks at him, the scar on Sanji’s throat is faded but if Ace had bothered to read what Sanji wrote he might know, because Marco doesn’t know what Sanji wrote.”Well, he’s mute mostly, had his vocal chords taken out as a kid.”

“What goods a mute at sea? You need to be strong, not need a babysitter.” Which would be funny coming from anyone but him and had he not said the first part. “The noises he can make drive me up the wall.” But all Marco sees is red and he opens the cell and Ace knows he fucked up so he dodges past and runs. Marco is on his heels but Ace gets to the deck and there’s an arm that chops his throat and stops all his momentum. Vista is glaring at him from where his back landed against the deck and Jozu is holding Marco back from his yelling.

“How dare you! Get off me! Let me go!” Ace hears as he chokes for breath.

“Calm down and explain.” Jozu tells him.

“He asked what goods a mute at sea.” Marco grits as the deck grows quiet. “Then said what noises Sanji can make are annoying.”

“Oh,” Vista says, his hand moving to his sword, “he doesn’t think Sanji is worthy of his bounty?”

“Enough, all of you, Sanji can handle himself. If Ace wants proof Sanji doesn’t need a watcher he can find out for himself.” Whitebeard announces, looking at the man who insulted his grandson. Ace glares as he starts picking himself up from where he was laid out. “Watch yourself, my grandson is not to be trifled with.”

Ace doesn’t feel fear, but a chill runs up his spine anyway. Ace is kept on deck until Izou and Sanji return, both confused at the way everyone is glaring at Ace who’s sat on deck pouting. Sanji’s hands fly in questions which are answered by others, that he’s allowed to fight Ace if he wants because Ace is an idiot and an asshole. Izou is rubbing his temples and groaning before he says they need to eat before Thatch comes hunting for Sanji. Thatch says it’s dinner time anyway and for everyone to come eat. They all follow, even Ace who watches Sanji’s hand move gracefully as Marco and Teach smile at him and ask questions which his hands seemingly answer. Ace has never encountered this in his travels before, so he watches the hands dance in the air, against his chest and head and face. Thatch smiles and brings up ingredients he’s found and the recipes they could try and Sanji must be putting his own input in. Sanji’s smile is bright like the sun over the ocean and Ace can’t pull his eyes from his hands.

“His feet dance just as well as his hands. Unless you still have your views?” Teach grins at him.

“Why doesn’t everyone know how to do that? Seems too useful to not know.” Ace grumbles.

“Because you aren’t the only one who held such views,” Vista starts, “took us all a bit of getting used to a quiet kid. But, once we did he had us all wrapped around his finger. Also makes him especially sneaky so I’d expect his revenge against you will be quite entertaining.” Vista’s grin is malicious and Ace feels his stomach churn.

“Don’t be mean to my boy again, understood?” Marco asks Ace and he doesn’t miss the phrasing of it.

“Yeah, I got it.” Ace chokes out as Sanji rolls his eyes. He is certainly Marco’s boy, the first grandchild of Edward Newgate. He is the baby of the fleet, used to be attached to Marco by the hip.

Marco

He understood it better than the others. After all he was a doctor. Whenever Marco saw you flagging, the tell-tail signs you were struggling. If you weren’t working with him at the time, and he saw you starting to lose all momentum, he’d ask for your help.

Anything to get you in the office and sat down. He didn’t want you to get hurt where you couldn’t concentrate.

If you were already working with him when you started to feel the fatigue hit, chances were Marco knew before you even felt it fully hit.

“Come sit on the couch,” he’d say with his hands on your shoulders, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs as you sighed, the sound heavy as you looked up at his lop-sided smile and kind eyes. “I’m fine Marco,” you’d fight him on it, not wanting to feel you couldn’t even do something as simple as sitting at a desk and reading.  “It’s just paperwork,” 

He clicked his tongue and gave you a tsk knowing he was going into doctor mode any second. “It’s still mentally taxing. There is no shame in needing a break yoi.” He said, voice firm as he gently rocked you, urging you to leave the chair and go do as you were told.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” You mumbled and rubbed your forehead, feeling the agitation at yourself growing as you stood. “Don’t be sorry, it’s a medical condition and as much as I appreciate you trying your best, I don’t want you pushing yourself baby bird,” He said and kissed your forehead, leading you to the sofa sitting you down.

“I feel useless,” you added as he fussed over you, getting a blanket to drape over you. “Not useless, never useless yoi.” Marco brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “You keeping me company, that’s all I need.”

“Really?” “Yes, I promise.”

Marco had a way of calming you down. You soon settled and felt yourself drift off into a well-needed nap.

---

Thatch

Less chill about things than Marco.

Will 100% be on your ass about have you eaten today? Do you need a snack? What about water? Are you staying hydrated?

Thatch is the actual mother hen of the four.

If he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, he’d give you this look, tapping his foot but you knew he meant well.

You’d been helping out around the deck that afternoon, trying to at the very least. You sighed and slumped against the mast as you closed your eyes and tried to stop the lightheaded feeling rushing through you as you gripped the handle of the mop tighter, something to ground yourself as you tried to shut the world out. 

You could feel it, the way your energy just drained. You’d felt so good this morning that you’d fooled yourself into thinking you could do everything. But now you were paying for such a bold claim as mopping the deck, which had well and truly sapped all you had moments ago.

“Hey pumpkin.” You opened your eyes to see Thatch, and he had a worried expression on his face as he folded his arms over his chest and examined you. “How ya feelin’?” He asked as you shrugged your shoulders. “I’m fine,”

He tsked and gave you a scrutinizing gaze as you practically wobbled in front of him. 

“Come get something to eat,” 

“I’m fine,” you were stubborn, a trait many of the Whitebeard pirates shared. Thatch sighed and dropped his arms by his sides before he lifted you up effortlessly, slinging you over his shoulder and ignoring your protests.

Soon you were sat in the kitchen as Thatch made you a sandwich, making sure there were veggies and protein to help you perk up. 

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, feeling bad as he’d obviously spent most of the afternoon prepping for dinner tonight. “I know, but I wanted to.” he gave one of his classic broad grins and handed you the plate, kissing your forehead. “I gotta look after you. The others would kick my ass if I didn’t right?” he said, chuckling and ruffling your hair as he looked at you with such adoration.

After that you were given a chair and helped him do some lowkey little effort chores so you felt useful but it wasn’t too much.

--

Ace

People assumed Ace wouldn’t understand what you were going through. They thought that he was young and so full of energy that he couldn’t possibly relate.

Except, he could.

The times he’d wear himself out [granted, it took way more than it did for you] he would be overwhelmed with the need to sleep and just pass out in random places.

A type of exhaustion-based narcolepsy Marco had explained.

You both could see the signs in one another and as much as you wouldn’t wish anything bad on people, let alone someone you loved, it was comforting to have someone in a similar camp as yourself.

You could feel your feet dragging, feeling the aches in your body and were aware your mood was starting to dip lower and lower as your ability to cope with the day whittled away. 

Ace walked over and saw you looking frazzled.

You could tell Ace wasn’t much better. He didn’t have his mischievous glimmer in his eyes, his dark circles prominent and the smile on his face was a shadow of a smirk. His posture was slouched and lazy as he nodded to you.

“Do I look as tired as I feel?” you asked with a sigh and collapsed against his chest, feeling arms around you as he used you to prop himself up as much as you needed him. “Worse,” he laughed and kissed your head.

“Maybe we need to get you to bed,” Ace hummed, running a hand down your back. “Ace.” you looked up at him, giving him a look. 

Ace scoffed and rolled his eyes, pulling away enough to see the frown on your face. “Not for anythin’ like that. Although…” he trailed off until you jabbed him in the side. “I’m kiddin’!”

“A nap, just a little power nap to get us through till tonight, huh?”

Now, that did sound nice…

“Oh Portgas, you tease…” You sighed and let him pull you away to his room, where you both promptly fell onto his bed, embraced by the soft pillows and tangled messy sheets.

Neither of you had even managed to take off your shoes as you cuddled together to recharge.

--

Izou

Izou was much more ‘tough love’ than your other partners.

But even so, he tried his best to understand and learn about your illness. Knowing you couldn’t help it any more than someone with a broken leg could.

He was more of a fan of ‘preventative’ measures. Seeing you exhausted and fighting to stand up was hard for him, unsure how to deal with it in a positive way without feeling he was being condescending or coddling you.

So you’d have these little tea sessions and pamper evenings with him. 

“This one is said to relax your body and mind, makes rest all the more revitalizing,” he said and poured you a tea as you sat across from him with a facemask on, feet in a tub of warm water with all sorts of oils and herbs.

You weren’t sure how much of these things would really work but it was nice to be so cared for and doted on. This was Izou’s way of doing his best to show he cared and wanted to help.

“Tastes… bitter?” you said, slapping your lips together. “All the best remedies taste bad,” Izou countered as he sat down and sipped his own, making a happy sound as he closed his eyes. 

The room was nice. His room always smelt like incense and flowers, and the colours he’d chosen to decorate his space with were also calming. You felt good here, felt good with him.

“How do you feel?” he asked as he watched you, taking in all your little movements and reactions as you basked in comfort.